Death of a Nation
by ResidentPyromaniac
Summary: Killing the nations, one by one.  Next victim: Germany.  "Surely you understand why this has to be done."
1. America

**Note:** This all started from this one time I was working on Worth a Try in study hall, and I mentioned absentmindedly that I'm probably a terrible person. The only guy at my table (as well as the only one who _doesn't_ follow Hetalia and only has a vague idea of it from our conversations) asked if it was because I was killing everybody. I took this as a challenge. I will attempt to write a death fic for every single one of the nations.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Also, any events that happen in this collection are _not_ things that I actually want to happen. Nor are they things that I think should happen. I'm just figuring out ways to kill the nations, one by one.

**Another note:** These fics are not related. That is, they aren't in the same time frame/universe/whatever you want to call it. I just don't want to clutter up my page with a ton of death fics when I can group them all together.

* * *

**America**

_"A light that burns twice as bright…"_

The mustang sped down the highway, easily passing a hundred miles an hour. Dying light from the sunset reflected off the car's deep red body, giving it an almost bloody hue. The driver gritted his teeth as he rounded a corner, wishing he could shift the car into a higher gear when it was already at its highest. He settled for pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor, trying to coax more speed from the engine.

Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, reveled in the speed. The roar of the engine, the wind lashing at him, the scenery flying past thrilled him. It was better than flying, better than fighting with bullets whizzing past him in defense of freedom, of justice. He laughed as he passed someone who happened to be on the same road, imagining their expression as a streak of red overtook them and vanished into the distance.

Fast driving was the only way Alfred could find any joy these days. A few decades ago, he was on top of the world, flying higher than any eagle. Not any more.

His economy was ruined, and it seemed that his people were either destitute or millionaires, with nothing in between. Citizens were furious, bickering and divided on even the most trivial issues. Storms ravaged his coastline and fires devoured the plains. Oil from an accident twenty years ago still choked the Gulf. Even he didn't know how many wars he was involved in now, but every day soldiers returned injured or dead. Politicians promised to fix everything and were elected by a desperate people, only to find themselves ensnared in a mess of old laws and party feuds. No other nation wanted to be seen associating with him, not even Matthew.

A memory rose, unbidden, from Alfred's thoughts and fears and rage. Something Arthur had told him when he was still a colony, still a child. _"A light that shines twice as bright burns half as long"_ or something like that. He had thought it stupid at the time. After all, you could get a brighter light that lasted longer by figuring out a way to make better candles, right?

But as the shouts of rioters, the cries of children whose parents could no longer afford to feed, the empty promises of officials with no power rang through his skull like some sort of twisted conscience, Alfred realized the truth of that one little sentence. The United States of America rose too fast, burned too bright, and now it was falling even though it wasn't even three hundred years old.

If he had been asked what he thought his end would be like when he was younger, Alfred probably would have gone off on some wild story about hostile aliens invading the earth and him saving the planet but somehow dying in the process. Or he would have talked about living to be really old – even older than China – and dying in a blaze of glory to be remembered like the Roman Empire. But the truth was, he never considered dying. It just wasn't an option. But now that it was happening, Alfred could only hope that when he fell, he could somehow defy the rules and survive the way Prussia did.

In the meantime, he would drive. He would drive as fast as he wanted, as fast as he could, and fuck the laws because nobody seemed to care about them any more.

By the next day, all that was left of the human form of the United States was a paragraph in the local paper, squeezed between news of yet another riot and a hurricane that took out half of New York, mentioning a crash that left no survivors.

* * *

**Sorry, another note:** I _know_ the "A light that burns twice as bright burns half as long" line didn't really show up until 1982. I have three reasons for using it: 1) It fits, 2) It does sound like something England would say, and 3) I like Blade Runner.


	2. Russia

**Note:** Thanks a lot, Russia, for totally derailing my half-written attempt to kill Italy. Seriously. Great job. /sarcasm. Also, this one is extremely short. But I think it works. Hopefully?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Also, any events that happen in this collection are _not_ things that I actually want to happen. Nor are they things that I think **will **happen.

* * *

**Russia**

_Forever_

Hello, brother. It's been a while since I heard from you last. I feel as if you have been avoiding me. Are you feeling well? All of these protests and riots have taken such a toll, I can see. You look so weary and frightened.

I made you some peirogi. I know you like it. It isn't much, but it's the best I can give. This turmoil has affected myself as well. Don't look so sad. We have both come through far worse than his. Here, eat.

Why do you always seem so nervous? Have things really become so horrible that you expect your own sister to attack? You know that I would never do anything to cause you pain, even if the will of my people tried to force my hand. I would resist them, resist the push to hurt you with everything I have. Because I love you. You know that, brother. I love you more than anything in this entire world.

You have not eaten anything. Why?

Please do not lie to me, brother. You have had nothing but vodka for the past two weeks. You must be hungry.

All right. I will not force you to eat what I have made for you if you do not want to. I am not England, after all.

I must admit, brother, that I did not come here just to give you pierogi. I have been thinking quite a lot recently, and I have realized some very important things. I will no longer request that we become married. Such a thing is impossible. The will of our people prevents it. Such is the nature of our existence.

This world is such a cruel one, even for our kind. No, especially for our kind. We feel our people's hunger, their sadness, their anger. We have no power to help them, but are instead forced to follow the decisions of our human bosses like mindless puppets. Most of the time our orders only make things worse. We are left to wallow in our misery without any freedom to have our own ideas, our own will. We cannot be married without political backing. You understand this, brother. How stupid I must have seemed…

See, I knew you were hungry. It is good, yes?

Thank you.

I must have seemed so stupid, so horrible, so naïve. And I was. I hadn't realized the true face of this world. Just by existing, we are doomed to a lifetime of pain. Hundreds, thousands of lifetimes by human standards. It is not fair, but the world is not fair. It never has been fair. Why should we have to suffer so much more than humans?

But I am talking to myself now. I can see you are already gone. The poison was fast acting, was it not? And totally painless. I made sure of that, brother. I would never hurt you. I never have hurt you. I have freed you, released you from this wretched existence of pain. You look so peaceful now.

I will meet you again, someday. I have been far too selfish to deserve such an easy way to escape this world. But someday, when my own time has come, darling brother, I will see you in the afterlife.

And then we will be together. Forever.


	3. Germany

**Disclaimer:** Hmm, nope. Still don't own Hetalia.

**Note:** Short thingy is very short...

* * *

**Germany**

_Consequences_**  
**

The war was over. It made no difference that the official word had not been sent out yet. It didn't matter that there were still a few pockets of resistance left. It was over. Germany had lost. The Fuhrer had taken a gun to himself, unable to bear the failure.

It was over.

Germany groaned and covered his face. He hadn't meant for this to happen, never meant for it to go this far. But there were the times…. Things would go badly. His people would become desperate. One man would rise above the people, and speak with the right words.

His people would join together, voices chanting in unison, calling for the blood of those who wronged him. His head would pound, memories of a time long past flooding him. A time of strength, of power, where nobody would dare to cross him. The earth would scream with the dying cries of his enemies.

It should never have gone this far. His people always remembered – _he_ always remembered the times of strength. Always the power, the rush of sheer, unstoppable force. He lost himself in the power, became far more drunk than could ever be achieved by alcohol. And he always forgot how painful it was once he crashed.

1806. He was almost completely destroyed, only surviving through the memories of his people.

1918. Only forty-seven years since his recovery. Of course he had been stupid enough to grow overconfident with his own strength, and with his boss's encouragement he overstepped his bounds. He was destroyed again, torn down to an impoverished republic while the victors jeered at his misfortune.

And now. 1945. He just knew that this time… this time, he would not be so lucky.

They stood before him, neatly arranged into a semicircle, looking down at him with various expressions. China was deathly calm. Russia was smiling in his usual inscrutable manner. England looked almost bored with the proceedings, but Germany could sense a flicker of triumph beneath that apathetic façade. America looked slightly worried.

France was openly smirking. Germany resisted the urge to yell at him, curse to dust the man who was nearly single-handedly responsible for the destruction of his identity as a nation in the past, even when he hadn't been the one to actually defeat him. It would do no good to lose his composure.

"Two World Wars in less than fifty years," England stated flatly. "And I suppose that you have no explanation for this?"

Germany remained silent and shut his eyes, no longer wishing to look at the nations who had beaten him down to this level.

"You must admit," France continued. "That is not the best record a nation can have." Germany flinched as the nation's voice grated across his ears. "Surely you understand that you are too dangerous for us to allow you to live?"

The unmistakable click of a loaded gun.


End file.
